


Hanging Out With You Can Be So Much Fun

by Wolfermann



Category: The Hateful Eight (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, I put in the man hours into a movie qt didn't even try to give lore to, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Old Married Couple, Pre-Canon, Sorry for my cockney accent for pete, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfermann/pseuds/Wolfermann
Summary: Pete Hicox and Grouch Douglas have some business to attend to before The Domingre Gang reaches a small Haberdashery in the Wyoming mountains
Relationships: Joe Gage | Grouch Douglass/Oswaldo Mobray | Pete Hicox
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Hanging Out With You Can Be So Much Fun

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: drunk, at the end of your rope

There’s a snapping sound of rope upon flesh and the hangman swings;

Once

Twice

Three times before his limbs cease to struggle and his proverbial soul leaves his body. There’s an incredibly cruel irony, one that makes Hicox grin as he looks up his victim. Who hangs the hangman? Pete thought of all the sad bastards that were just trying to support their family or pave their way through the cruel life that comes from living in the American west that met their end to the man before him.

_Oswaldo Mobray_

A fop name for a lawful killer. The prat probably never thought he could end up like the filthy criminals he put down for a living. But now Mobray didn’t have to worry about anything, he was just a fresh corpse strung out on a tree in the middle of nowhere Wyoming territory. The only people who would miss him would be the lawful citizens of Red Rock now waiting on both a hangman and a new sheriff. Maybe the other would arrive, Pete had no idea who that man was anyways nor was he paid to care.

“Cut ‘em down, Joe. Think tossin’ him in the snow bank for now should suffice. They won’t find him until spring and by then, ain’t our problem.” Hicox chirped to his partner, shifting his gaze from the corpse to the big man. Joe “Grouch” Douglas, all dark hair and glacier blue eyes winked at the Little Man before using his work knife to cut the rope in one fluid motion. Mobray crumpled to the ground, making the fresh crunch loudly from the dead weight. Grouch lifted their victim with ease, carelessly tossing the man to the side of the wagon trail as if he were off loading hay.

Despite his age (Grouch never mentioned his real age but the Domingre’s still celebrated his birthday every year, and Pete could hazard a guess), Douglas took the heavy work with ease. The Little Man followed swiftly behind him to kick snow around Mobray, entombing him in an icy grave. Grouch took care of the rest of the evidence of them ever being there, it went without saying, after all they had killed hundreds of people like this before.

Pete gazed down at his job, it was sufficient and with the heavy clouds above, they were going to get more snow soon. It would probably begin on their way back to Coopertown and continue into the night. December’s in Wyoming Territory were always cold and heavy with snow, which would make their job either easier or harder, his bet was harder. The Little Man rubbed his gloved hands together as he moved to rejoin his partner at their horses.

“Got something to warm you up on the ride back.” Joe’s graveled voice echoed in the wood, sending a shiver down Hicox’s spine. He had been with the Domingre gang for a decade now and partners with Douglas for nearly fifteen. They met in some shit town, in some shit county, at some even shittier saloon. Pete had been bold enough to try to pick pocket him for his billfold after a few rounds of drinks and charm on his part, Grouch immediately caught him red handed and instead of killing him or handing him over to the authorities, he offered him a partnership. Thieves, robbers, and occasional killers. It was a good gig and they were incredibly in tune with one another.

“I was hoping you could but I can wait.” He bolstered back, earning a pearly smug smile from Joe. He extended a flask to the Englishman after he had gotten situated on his nag. “You devil. It better not be any gin.” Pete teased, opening the contents and knocking back a much needed shot before he could answer. The whisky stung on the way down and made his face warmer than a summers day. The liquid courage helped as he got situated on his patient steed.

“Oh it ain’t, honey. Don’t worry your heart.” Grouch retorted, taking the open flask from him and having his own share. Grouch was a mean bastard to many, as ruthless as they came but he was sweet as could be when it was just to two of them.

“Didn’t know I needed that.” Pete grazed the corner of his mouth with his glove, mopping up the excess alcohol so it wouldn’t freeze his face on the ride back to Coopertown. After traveling with the Domingres for so long, Hicox had seen plenty of small, depressed western towns on the edge of wagon trails, kept alive by patrons and miners looking for glory. They all blended together after awhile.

“Yeah I figured that we’d need something after doing the shit work.” The big man nudged his horse into the right direction. Grouch’s own grey work horse was tied to the deceased Mobray’s stallion that would fetch a fair price once they got back into town. Good, healthy horses were the staple of the west and they needed every penny they could get if they really were going back to Mexico after the Daisy job.

“Now, now. Killing fops is easy, compared to rubbing elbows with coach drivers.” Pete gloated, spurring his own mare forward. “Jody can have all that, he’s got enough charm and patience for it.”

“You just like killing people, Pete. Ya ain’t got to put on a front for me.” Grouch rolled his pretty blue eyes hard but his teasing had not bite to it.

“And you do too, Joe. You ain’t the type to sit in pool halls and rub elbows with rubes.” The Englishman pointed to his partner, their voices carried on the empty road eerily as they continued on. “Now give me a little more of that so I don’t freeze my bollocks off on the ride home.”

“I can do that, Pete. Just don’t fall off your horse.” The Cowpuncher snorted, tossing him the flask which he nearly dropped between them. Hicox huffed, unscrewing the top and knocking back another swig.

“Wouldn’t you love to see that.”


End file.
